The Chef
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 17: Heels and Heartstrings
Like clockwork, Sophie arrived the following morning. It was mid-March and colder than usual, so she had Lucie in a cute sweater while she wore a snug sweater dress that hugged her curves. With hosiery and four-inch heels, she looked stunning.
Since Sophie arrived early, she restrained Becca herself. I realized she timed it this way to avoid Becca already being restrained by me, leading me to think she started coming earlier just to put Becca in her restraints.
As I handed Sophie their lunches, she kissed me and wished me a nice day, the first time she had done so. Becca noticed but didn’t say anything. Unsure how to react, I wished them both a nice day as well.
Outside of Lucie receiving compliments on her sweater during our walk that morning, the day was quiet. Lisa had just returned from what she called her “executive team-building trip,” which was just code for a company-paid ski getaway.
Things were looking good for her; after the recent shake-up in the executive board, including Miranda Caldwell’s departure, Lisa had been moving up the ranks at the new company. When she called me with news, I could sense her excitement despite her current annoyance.
“How bad?” I asked.
“It’s bad enough that I can’t wear anything over four inches,” she said with a hint of frustration. “We’re talking about block heels here. Four-inch block heels can be cute and professional, but anything five inches or higher just feels clunky to me.”
“How’s the kid?” I inquired.
“Perfectly fine,” she muttered. “Not even a scratch.”
“Um, yeah, they’re rubbery at that age.”
I learned that Lisa fell while skiing and fractured her ankle. It didn’t require surgery, so it would heal fine, but her days of high stilettos were over. Of course, she tripped over a kid, who, as expected, suffered no injuries.
“Look on the bright side,” I told her. “You get to go shoe shopping.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I guess I’ll have to make room for the new shoes.”
Sighing, she asked, “Is Becca still a size seven?”
“Yep,” I said sarcastically. “Her foot hasn’t grown since the FBI incidents.”
Sighing as she realized what she had just asked, she said, “Right.”
Then, with a thoughtful look, she asked, “Does she know anyone who needs five-inch stilettos?”
“Need?” I asked smiling into the phone.
“Yes, Ben,” she replied matter-of-factly. “If you were a woman, you’d understand. Five-inch heels are practically a requirement. Every woman has at least one pair in her closet, whether she wears them out or they’re just for some fun in the bedroom.”
Pressing the matter further, I asked, “Hmm. So, you’re going to keep wearing the four-inch ones, aren’t you?”
But I already knew the answer.
Envisioning her nodding on the phone, she said, “Yes. Silly, of course. But the five-inch ones—I couldn’t walk in those before, let alone now.”
Smiling, I said, “Yeah, she has someone who would love to have them.”
I offered to pick them up, but she insisted on mailing them to us and billing them to the company since she was one of the executives.
After discussing her recovery, the conversation shifted to the company. Lisa mentioned there might be a possible buyback.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“They don’t like having all that stock floating around. They want control of their own company,” she replied. “With the acquisition, their bean counters realized that many of us still have stock in the old company.”
“So, what does that mean?” I pressed, still confused. “How do we still have stock in a company that doesn’t exist? Wouldn’t they already know that? I mean, they bought the company—didn’t they ask about it?”
“Like I said, their bean counters are figuring it out now,” she explained. “It’s all pending conversion, and they’ll be informing us soon by letter about when the conversion to the new company stock will happen. But once it does, they’ll do a buyback.”
Pausing for a moment to let me catch up, she continued, “Once it’s all converted to the new company and our stock is with them ... well, we’ll be required to sell our stock back to the company at whatever price is set, which should be the market price on the day of the sale.”
Lisa explained, “But for those with a significant amount of stock, it could turn into a real windfall.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. “Windfall, like?”
“Yes, like what you’re thinking right now—like Rebecca,” Lisa said. “She owns a massive amount from the old company that has to be converted to the new one. They told me yesterday they didn’t realize how much she had from our former company. And of course, they wanted to know why.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That it was to prevent Rebecca from suing the shit out of the company they bought. Had that not been handled, any litigation would have fallen on them too, since buying the company means taking on all the baggage that comes with it.” She then added, “So, I may have mentioned that they shouldn’t mess with the—analyst’s girlfriend and her stock, because doing so could lead her to take action against the old company—and now, against them.”
I sat silent on the call, unsure of what to say. Finally, I asked, “What did they say?”
“Mr. Thompson listened attentively and indicated that once they convert all of Rebecca’s stock, the company would reassess the situation.” Sighing, she continued, “I’ll keep you posted, but given how much she owns—and that they’ll be converting it—she has enough shares to wield significant influence. I mean, real shareholder influence that could lead to changes at the executive level. They might want her to just go away and could end up offering her some kind of package.”
Still not knowing what to say, I just muttered, “Okay.”
Sensing my uncertainty, Lisa added, “Wait until I understand everything. I’ll fill you in and explain the options.”
But there was no misunderstanding on her part. “Rebecca might have enough influence to decide what happens at the company, which could work in both your favor.”
We hung up, and the idea of Rebecca potentially being a stakeholder with enough ownership to dictate decisions was beyond surprising. I struggled to wrap my head around it but decided to take Lisa’s advice and not mention anything to Becca until I knew more.
Later that night, at dinner, I mentioned to the girls that Sophie might be inheriting some five-inch stilettos.
“You think she’ll be sending those Louboutin ‘So Kate?’” Becca asked thoughtfully.
“Maybe,” I replied. “I think she owns two pairs? One of them she didn’t even take out of the box. Then there are those six-inch dominatrix ones she ordered, too.”
Sophie then asked, “Aren’t those like $700?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Becca interjected, “His boss has very expensive tastes. She usually only wears Prada.”
She smiled, adding, “That’s how I ended up with those heels—like the Jimmy Choos, and those Dominatrix ones.”
“And their five- and six-inch?” Sophie asked.
“You’ve seen them,” Becca replied. “I’ve worn the ‘So Kate’ ones a lot—the black patent with the worn red soles. And remember at the exhibition that night? Those heels I wore while hobbling around in the leg cuffs? Those are the Dominatrix ones we’re talking about.”
Sophie looked both surprised and a little panicked. “Okay. Yeah. We did talk about this.”
She paused and then said, “I just thought I wouldn’t be in heels that high for a while.”
Becca smiled. “You’ll be okay. They’ll look amazing on you. Plus, it’ll just be here with us. It’ll be a while before you wear them out.”
Sophie looked at Becca, smiling. “Wear them out? But I thought you mentioned that six-inch heels were bedroom shoes. Um—”
Sophie was trying to remember something she had heard Becca say once:
“Something about four inches for every day, five for special occasions, and six in the bedroom?”
“Yes,” Becca replied. “That’s right. But Lisa wears a size nine, and with you being an eight-and-a-half, they’ll fit perfectly. They won’t be tight.”
She added, “I think you’ll walk in them without any problem. So, I’m thinking six-inch might be for special occasions, too.”
Leaning in while feeding Sophie, she continued, “And, it would be fun for both of us to be in them on date night.”
She sighed a little. “I’ll just have to be in the transport jewelry, too.”
Nodding, Sophie asked, “Date night? You mean like the three of us?”
As she said this, I looked at Becca. Tilting her head, Becca realized what she had just implied. “I—I guess I shouldn’t be thinking aloud.”
Sophie smiled. “Where I’m from, going out on a date wearing six-inch stilettos means there’s an expectation I’ll still be in them later that night on my back, using them as handles.”
She chuckled. “Well, back when I dated men.”
As we all laughed, she turned to Becca with a serious expression. It was clear she was deep in thought, reflecting on the three of us and our growing bond.
“I’m sorry about kissing Ben this morning,” she said. “I didn’t even realize I did it until we were driving.”
“Is that why you were so quiet?” Becca asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, a bit flustered. “I—I didn’t know what to say. I know you noticed. I’m sorry.”
Then, almost in a rush, she added, “But I really am a lesbian. I want to be kissing you.”
We watched as Sophie’s face turned completely red.
Closing her eyes in embarrassment, she said, “Can we start over? I—I know we said we wanted to take this slow, and I do. I don’t know why I kissed Ben. He handed me our lunch, and I feel so close to both of you. I just reached up and kissed him.”
Looking at Sophie, I said, “It’s okay.”
I sighed, “I guess we need to talk about all of this. There’s a lot we need to discuss.”
We sat in silence for a minute before Sophie broke it. “If we go out on dates and we’re both in six-inch stilettos, dressed up, people are going to talk.”
She added what we all knew, “You know what that’s going to look like and what people are going to say.”
Becca smiled. “We’ve already been going out on weekends together. People are seeing the three of us.”
She added, “And we’re always at the museum. We’re never apart.”
Sophie nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.”
She explained, “But it’s one thing to argue that it’s because I’m your assistant at work. It’s another to see the lesbian in six-inch stilettos, hosiery, and a tight dress with the two of you on a Saturday night.”
“Why do you do that? Call yourself ‘the lesbian’?” Becca asked. “You’re Sophie. We don’t see you that way.”
She looked at me. “We don’t care about your sexual preference. We just want to be with you.”
“So, it doesn’t bother you that I kissed your boyfriend this morning without even thinking about it? And that I just told you I want to kiss you? And that I’m a lesbian, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I’m attracted to you?” Sophie replied.
Becca looked at me and said, “Yeah. We kind of figured that. That part we know.”
She added, “It’s the rest of it that we haven’t figured out yet.”
Sophie nodded. “I guess this is new to all of us.”
She stared down at her cuffed wrists. “Do you both find me attractive? I—I mean, I feel so close to both of you. I—I guess I thought what we have meant the bedroom too.”
Her face turned beet red again, and she stopped talking, whispering, “I’m sorry.”
“Sophie?” As she looked up at me looking teary, I said, “Becca and I talked about this. Or at least we talked about talking about this. We just thought we had more time. But we’re here now. So, it’s okay. Let’s talk through it. Let’s figure this out.”
I then told Sophie about how, when I first met Becca, she had girlfriends. And a few months into dating, after we became intimate ourselves, she suggested bringing another woman into our bed.
But I wasn’t comfortable with it. I didn’t want to share her with anyone.
Even a few weeks ago, or maybe just days—I couldn’t remember anymore—I was still uneasy about it. But I explained that I realized I was emotionally attached to Becca and her now, and I had to accept that it would have to be sexual, too.
“I’m still uncomfortable with sharing Becca with you in that way.” I told Sophie, “But at the same time, for this to work, it can’t just be an emotional connection. That would be completely unfair to you.”
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